


too much loneliness drives you mad

by supremely sinful (I_Am_Not_A_Robot)



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Drugged Sex, Non-Consensual Bondage, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Rape, Teratophilia, This is seriously fucked up, sort of? if you count getting trapped in a net as bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26118076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Not_A_Robot/pseuds/supremely%20sinful
Summary: The night was going well, until something wandered into the house.AKA: A fic in which the monster is not, in fact, the attacker. It's the victim.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Non-Human Character
Kudos: 13





	too much loneliness drives you mad

**Author's Note:**

> ayy what's UP my guys  
> i'm back! and guess what!! this account is going to be solely gross NSFW shit from now on. i've decided that fucked-up one-shots are my calling. enjoy, or whatever,,, i guess...? lmao
> 
> oh and tell me if you find any grammatical errors. writing a character with it/its pronouns means that my writing app kept auto-correcting an apostrophe into places it doesn't belong. i also wrote this at like 2am when i was very tired so there may be other mistakes.

A red sun rises every morning, and the red sun sets every evening. 

When the sun's out, so are the shambling, bloody terrors that had sprung up from the unnameable and tragic apocalypse. When the sun's below the horizon, so are the humans and any other animals that had learned night’s cool embrace is safer, as it has been for the past three years. 

But that population of humans is very small, and grows smaller everyday. 

Probably the worst part about being undead—or cursed, or sleepwalking in this hellish nightmare—is that it has been unbearably long since it saw anybody. Months had passed since it saw one single intelligent life-form. It suspects that the small, weak nighttime people are in hiding, and to be completely honest, it sort of misses them. Sometimes, it wonders why the sight of one of them brings such strong waves of nostalgia. 

Everything from before three years ago is a blur, and life since then has been confusing at best and painful at worst. 

More than anything, it‘s lonely. 

The streets are empty, and a breeze kicks up fallen leaves that nobody‘s bothered to rake. Autumn, though young, is settling upon the earth and bringing a chill with it. 

It hates frost. 

Frost is cold, and it _hates_ cold. 

It ambles unsteadily down the street towards an abandoned house that it has taken to calling a temporary home. Cracks line the sidewalk on the other side of the street, and they only get deeper and more jagged as they grow closer to the source of the tangled web—a big crater where one of the nighttime-people set off a bomb and killed a horde of the daytime-people. it hadn’t been there when that happened, but the trees whisper of the event every once in a while as the years near July. Something about fireworks. 

Something about the start of the end. 

It doesn’t care. 

Reaching with three scarred arms, it pulls itself onto the low roof of the abandoned house, claws digging into the crumbling grey tiles as it crawls up to the window on the second floor, pulling itself through a window that had long since been smashed and falling into a room that looks as mangled as its own body does. There‘s a pile of blankets in one corner that it pulled off the bed, bloodstained and ragged (but still comfortable!). The sun is going down. It never gets tired, but it‘s not immune to night’s naturally lower temperatures. Blankets help fight off the chill. 

The red sun sets.

A door creaks in the lower floor of the house. 

The monster stands up immediately, using the tentacles on its back—and the nearby furniture and wall—to help stabilize its body. Curiosity burns a hole in its chest, and it creeps towards the hallway, fascinated by the light shining down there. 

...And the nighttime-person. 

A young man, backpack slung over his shoulder and wielding a flashlight, which he points at the house, scanning every inch of it to make sure the coast is clear. 

Silent as deep space, it climbs over the staircase rail, where it waits in the darkness and _watches_. Its many limbs cling to the wooden rail, and it hangs down, peering closely at the stranger. 

He shivers, pulls his coat tighter around him, and takes a careful step into the house. The floor creaks under his foot, causing him to freeze. 

_'Nighttime-people are always so panicky,'_ the monster thinks to itself as it lowers its body silently and fluidly to the floor.

The man gets over his fear and walks into the house, seemingly convinced that since he hasn’t been attacked yet, there’s no one here. He enters the dining room, sets his backpack down on the table, and takes out a few supplies. Rope, and a knife. 

It continues to watch him, tilting its head as it catches sight of the sharp metal blade. Whatever could that be for? What does he need it for? Why is he here in the first place?

It wants to know. 

It _needs_ to know. 

So it stalks closer to him, sticking to the shadows and evading the beam his flashlight casts. Dust flecks dance, ambient, in the cold white light. 

As focused as it was on the man, it doesn’t even notice the yarn strung taught, about one inch off the old wooden floor, and one of its feet swings right through it, setting off a mechanism. Before it can react, a weighted net falls from the ceiling and brings it to the floor, where it thrashes in its bindings.

The man startles, but gets over that very quickly when he sees what caused the noise. 

It screams and yells at him, but the man does not heed its cries, instead opting to walk closer, a small smile on his face. 

“Caught you,” the man whispers. 

Snarling, it tries to bite through the net. Whatever it’s made out of, the net refuses to get damaged. Now the monster is panicking, because it’s never been caught like this before, and has no idea what happens next. Death? Torture? Experimentation?!

“Hey, shhh,” the stranger hushes. His eyes glint in the low light cast by his now-flickering flashlight, which he left on the table. Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, he kneels next to the monster, looking it over. “I won’t hurt you.”

Not breaking eye contact with the man, it fumbles with its spine-limbs, realizing that the tips of its tentacles are thin enough to get through the holes in the net. Unfortunately, there’s not much it can do with that. It shifts again, straining against the coils digging into its already-bleeding body. 

And then the man does something unexpected. 

He leans over and places a hand on its neck, gently brushing over the smooth grey skin and lung-holes there. 

It freezes under his touch, completely at a loss on what, exactly, this guy thinks he’s doing here. Why is he touching it?! Why— why does it feel so weird?

“Now, what are you? Boy or girl abomination? That... that probably doesn’t matter, actually.”

It bristles at that question. All three of its hearts are beating faster and faster. This night isn’t going well. It’s cold, and now it’s been attacked! It just wants to go back to its blanket pile! 

The man cups its head through the net, and it retaliates by pulling one of its set of arms out from where they’d been stuck inside its body, flesh tearing and splattering the floor and human male as it pushes him off. 

He frowns, wiping the gore from his face. 

It resumes its struggling, pleased to find that it has room to push its hind-limbs out, whereupon it quickly stands up, wobbly but towering over the human—just as it should be. 

The flashlight flickers again. 

It hisses, writhing furiously and trying to get the net off its body so it can regain full mobility. Two legs isn’t enough to run with, and no arms nor mouth makes for a lousy hunt. 

It’s expecting the human to run.

He doesn’t.

No, he instead chooses to jump at the monster, sending them both toppling to the ground. It screeches, but he’s quick to silence it with his hand holding its jaws shut. “Quiet!” he orders. 

Its whole body bucks like it’s being shocked by electricity, but he holds on tight. After a few minutes of useless fighting, the monster finds that it’s been tired out. 

Years...

_Three years_... and it’s never felt exhaustion, not once during that time. 

What the hell is going on?

And then, through hazy eyes, it spots the knife in the man’s hand, dipped in a poison of some sort—and now, its blood. 

He breathes shakily, _inhale exhale_ , and readjusts his grip on the knife.

“Do you know,” he asks between heavy breaths, “how long it’s been since I’ve seen someone? Do you know how fucking lonely it’s been? I’ve been going crazy.” He laughs a little, then, and one of his hands goes to his jean zipper, where he fumbles with the bronze contraption. “I haven’t touched someone in so long, it’s been driving me insane. Guess I finally snapped, huh? What kind of freak goes out to fuck an abomination? God help me.”

It doesn’t know what’s going on, only that there’s a sick feeling in its stomach that may or may not be the poison’s fault. 

The man shuffles until he’s straddling the monster, and unzips his pants. With shaky hands he pulls out his penis, which stands erect in his loose grip.

Tired, but still scared, the monster watches as the man fondles his own reproductive organ, letting out a soft sigh. It cringes back, as much as its tied-up position will let it. What is the human doing?!

He reaches down and feels along the monster’s abdomen, sliding downward until he hits a spot that makes the monster suddenly twitch, it’s jaw falling open and exposing those blade-like teeth, a low hiss rumbling from its chest. 

“Did I find it? Guess you guys aren’t sexless after all. People are rumoring you reproduce via spores or some shit. But no, you disgusting bastards get it on just like everyone else, don’t you?” 

Disgusting bastards? What? What did it do to get called that?

Then the implications of what he said dawns on it, and the monster tries to rouse its sleepy motor functions out of whatever paralysis they fell into. Unfortunately, the most it can manage is a small jerk of its limbs, but nothing else. It’s _defenseless_. 

The man must know this, because there’s no way he’d grab its legs and pull them apart like that, theres no way he’d cut a small hole in the net before tossing the knife aside, there’s no way he’d lower himself until his body is flush against the monster’s corrupt flesh, there’s no way he’d— he’d—

He forces his penis inside, groaning softly. “F-fuck, you’re— ah, oh God...”

It goes back to screaming, since nothing else seems to work. 

...Never mind, not even that works. A pathetic whine comes out instead of a call for help. Nobody‘s gonna hear that. Nobody‘s gonna be able to help. 

Once he’s sunk in fully, the human takes a moment to collect himself. Blood stains his shirt and jeans, and it pools on the floor beneath the monster. He doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just pauses a moment and closes his eyes, body alight with pleasure. “You feel so good.” The passage in is naturally slick, and he pulls out with a sickening sound before he slams back in again. 

It cries out. Quietly terrified, quietly confused. 

He smiles as another wave of bliss travels through him, grip tightening on the monster’s flesh as he thrusts in, hard and desperate. The air smells of decay and burnt sugar, but it doesn’t nauseate him somehow. 

Lost in the feeling of release and burning up with carnal fervor, the man keeps a strong hold on the drugged monster and fucks it until the past months of sexual frustration, of not seeing a single other human, of losing his mind solitarily... all of that melts away.

He’s left a sweaty, sticky mess by the end of it, pulling out and watching in sick fascination as his ejaculate dribbles out of the blood-filled hole. 

“I’m...” The man stands up abruptly, stumbling away as he tucks his penis back into his jeans, back hitting the old paint-peeled walls. He stares at his hands, covered in grime and gore, then back at the restrained monster he’s caught. 

Cautiously, he pulls the net off, untangling it from its many limbs. It kicks a barbed leg at him weakly, but misses by many inches. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand this starvation, I _had_ to touch something...” The flashlight flickers again, but this time it stays out. Darkness envelops the abandoned house. 

Its wary auditory receptors listen to every footstep as he leaves, and relief spreads through its sluggish hearts as soon as the man disappears from view. 

The moment’s over. Thank fuck it’s over. That was horrible. 

In the distance, the red sun rises. It finds that it has never been more thankful to see its rays. It’s easier to _hunt_ in daylight, and it’s easier to _extract revenge_ in daylight.

...The abomination also finds that it’s developed a terrible fear of the dark.


End file.
